


Aftercare

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood Loss, F/M, Missions, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of weapon was she if she let him get hurt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftercare

“ _So I bare my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in. I’m bleeding out. I’m bleeding out for you._ ”

~Imagine Dragons

* * *

 

Marie almost vomited when she felt the warm blood gush against her side. It seeped through the fabric of her clothes so badly that she knew she’d never be able to wash it out, and she almost sobbed when she readjusted Stein, hoping against hope that they could get to town fast enough that he didn’t die while she was still holding him. The sting in her left eye hadn’t faded down, either, and she couldn’t see out of it.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant. She didn’t need to, at that time.

Not when she could barely focus enough to know where to set her feet. They were in the middle of nowhere, they were hurt, they were Lord only knows how far from any sort of help.

As she thought, she didn’t pay enough attention to the terrain beneath her shoes and she stumbled, almost losing her balance, and Stein’s weight settled entirely against her, making it even more difficult for her to stay upright. She breathed in hard through her nose, inhaling in the scent of gore that seemed almost infused in the air. 

They shouldn’t have taken the assignment. They should have just let Kami and Spirit have it but Stein and his stupid vendetta wouldn’t let them. She was just sixteen and she was _scared_  and, good God, she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die out in the barren world while her Meister choked out breath next to her.

What kind of weapon was she if she let him get hurt? All her training, all her classes, all her promises: good for nothing. When it really mattered, she hadn’t acted fast enough. She hadn’t been strong enough and now her Meister was hurt and she couldn’t transform back to a hammer and her weapon blood had failed her and damnit damnit damnit it was all her fault all her fault all her fault why did he have to do that why didhehavetodothat-

“M-Marie…” Stein rasped out, and she thinks her heart stopped from how weak he sounded and only after she heard him, holding her breath, did she realize that she had started to hyperventilate.

She felt numb. Nothing inside of her was functioning. She didn’t know where they were or where they were going. She felt so useless. So, so useless.

Her hold on his arm tightened and she slunk him closer to her, glowing gold so fiercely, she wondered if a satellite would confuse her for a whole town with the lights on. 

“W-we’re al-alm-most there, Stein,” she reassured, but she didn’t know if that was true. She had no direction, she had no direction and her legs felt like they would buckle beneath her and the tears that slid down her face were so hot, she didn’t know if it was blood or water. 

“No,” he started, coughing wetly, and her horrified eyes…eye took note of the small spray of red he’d spat into the air. “we aren’t.”

“Y-ye-s-s we a-are.”

“Marie-”

“Yes we are, damnit, yes we are! Shut up!”

Her chest was heaving. All she wanted to do was collapse into the dirt, let it cover her hands and her knees, let it coat her skin and cling to the wounds. She wanted to sink down so deep there would be nothing left to bury.

“Stop,” he said, but she didn’t listen, only forcing herself forward once more, practically sobbing but feeling steely and furious and so terrified all at the same time.

“Stop!” he repeated, and this time, regardless of the cough that accompanied it, her entire body ground to a halt. 

He so rarely used the voice. The Meister Voice. The one that meant that she had to listen. 

Or, rather, didn’t have to. She didn’t  _have_  to do anything. But she was his weapon and he was her partner. He was her friend. She loved him loved him loved him. She would do anything for him. Anythinganythinganything.

Without the momentum, her knees buckled and she really did sink down to the dirt, taking him with her and crying miserably. He grunted in pain when she landed down with a sad plop, jostling him.

“Call…call Death,” he said, making a pained noise as he tried to pull away from her, but at the thought of being separated from him, she panicked, reaching out and clutching him, to which he could only wince. “Marie-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“Call Death, Marie.”

“I-I-”

“Don’t cry Marie. It was  _my_  fault,” he assured, and her sad, weeping voice almost broke him open. He slumped against her, one of his hands still trying to put pressure to his wound, but the world was going hazy at the edges and Marie’s wavelength could only do so much. He barely registered when she fumbled with her compact, likely cracked, barely took note of her voice. He slid down, still supporting himself against her, until his head was cushioned by her lap.

When he looked up, saw her face, he stared at her obliterated left eye, at the visceral and grit of her. 

Her blonde hair was strawberry in some place from the gore, her body glowing so strongly, it was like she had a halo around her. 

He buried his face against her belly, unwilling to see her so wrecked.

But beyond that, there was only the dark.

* * *

 

The next time he woke up, it was to the sound of beeping and to her face, once again. However, this time, she had been cleaned of the blood, and where her ruined eye had been, there was now a clean bandage. His brows furrowed in confusion when he noted that she was slumped over, her tired, slumbering face hovering over him.

He still had his head pillowed in her lap.

He blinked a few times, trying to remember what had happened, only to feel like something had split his head open. He bit back his groan, readjusting slightly so he could look around.  

The room they were in was certainly of the medical variety, and likely not very good, since he could see that some of the equipment was outdated. Nonetheless, as he twisted, he could feel that he had been administered stitches, and he almost scowled at the thought of having to redo them so they were as he preferred.

What kind of medical personnel let two injured teenagers stay in the same bed?

Maybe it had been Death’s orders. He bit his tongue as he settled back against Marie, and she made a soft, confused sound which almost stopped his heart. He didn’t think he was ready to have her blink her eye open and see the position they were in.

Then again, maybe she was the one who had insisted upon it. After all, she was sitting, not lying down.

It took all too long for his eyesight to focus enough that he realized she was faintly glowing gold. He felt stupid at the time he had needed to understand.

Of _course_ Marie had insisted upon it. She healed things by touching them and she had developed every possible point of contact without having them pressed together in a way that would irritate the wound on his torso. Her arms were cradling him as best she could in such an uncomfortable position, her belly pressed to his scalp, his head on her thighs.

She made another sleepy noise, shifting slightly and pulling him toward her, which made him want to hiss from being jostled once more, but as soon as he was all the closer to her, he could only sigh out in relief.

Marie should have been a nurse, not a weapon. She should have healed instead of destroyed. He knew how much she hated breaking things, how much she wanted to be considered soft and tender. He didn’t have a clue how to inform her that she could be both.

As he gazed up at her slumbering face, he wondered if he was allergic to something they’d given him, or if he was just developing cardiac arrhythmia on his own. Maybe it was the wound. Maybe it was just temporary.

All he knew was that whatever doctor or medic or nurse’s assistant had been assigned to them was absent for the time being, and that it was a good thing, too. They couldn’t do anything for them, at that point. The medical staff had done their job and patched them up. The actual healing was up to them, the aftercare.

Up to Marie.

And, as illogical as it was, somehow, in the small room in the middle of nowhere, so soon after he had been so injured, cradled close to her, he felt like he had already started to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt titled "Aftercare" over on tumblr! S/o to lucidrush! <3


End file.
